


that look upon your face

by Starrie_Wolf



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Post-TYBW, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-16 09:30:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16951464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrie_Wolf/pseuds/Starrie_Wolf
Summary: It’s January again.Karakura is balanced precariously on the cusp of winter, the first flurries of snow sweeping through the streets, dusting the houses in white.Kisuke tugs his bucket hat down a little lower as he steps out of the door, tugs his haori a little closer, and is careful to keep the bundle in his hands shielded from the damp and the cold. He calls out an “Itte kimasu!” out of habit, and only when no response greets him does he remember – no one lives here anymore.





	that look upon your face

It’s January again.

Karakura is balanced precariously on the cusp of winter, the first flurries of snow sweeping through the streets, dusting the houses in white.

Kisuke tugs his bucket hat down a little lower as he steps out of the door, tugs his haori a little closer, and is careful to keep the bundle in his hands shielded from the damp and the cold. He calls out an “Itte kimasu!” out of habit, and only when no response greets him does he remember – no one lives here anymore.

He leaves the Shōten in silence.

The pavement is not yet hidden under a thick coat of snow like it would be in late January, and his geta clacks rhythmically against it as he walks. There are few people out on the streets, and when he turns towards the path leading to the hilltop, the number drops to one.

Just him.

That’s the way it is, these days.

The cemetery hasn’t changed a bit since the day they buried Masaki, save for several new rows of graves.

Kisuke stops at one of them, setting down his precious cargo. He reaches out to brush the light dust of snow from the headstone, rubbing at the words until they become visible.

_Kurosaki Ichigo_

He tears his gaze away from those two innocuous words and busies himself with fussing over the flowers he’s brought, arranging them this way and that, until he’s satisfied. They’re sprigs of wisteria. Ichigo probably – scratch that, _definitely_ – doesn’t speak the language of flowers; but then, these acts are never meant for the dead, only the living.

Kisuke unstacks the pair of cups, fills both to the brim with his best sake, and sets one against the edge of the headstone. The other cup, he clinks gently against the first, and then raises it in a silent toast.

To the man he didn’t manage to save.

He tips his head back and drains the cup in one go. There’s no response, not that he really expected one, and Kisuke can’t help but crack a wistful smile.

The wind picks up a little, and the back of his neck prickles, the way it does when someone’s watching him.

Kisuke turns around.

He’s unsurprised to see the open doors of a Senkaimon, even though there had been no sound to herald its arrival, no clatter of wooden panels as the doors slide open. Kisuke sighs. He stands up, dusts himself off, and picks up the still mostly-full sake bottle.

The Senkaimon waits for him silently.

Kisuke takes a swig of sake straight from the bottle and marches through, unafraid.

He exits into a courtyard so wide, it stretches beyond the horizon in every direction he can see – save for one. Directly ahead of him, a gorgeous castle looms, as though it was transplanted directly from Victorian England – no matter how improbable it is to see such a style of architecture in Soul Society.

Kisuke raises the bottle to his lips, takes another drink, and then walks forward.

As he draws nearer to the gates, it becomes evident that there is someone in front of the main doors, leaning against a pillar.

“Tadaima,” Kisuke greets.

The figure straightens from his slouch against the pillar, but his arms are still folded across his chest, and the doors remain stubbornly barred. “Okaeri.”

Kisuke holds the sake bottle out like a peace offering.

Ichigo takes it, but he doesn’t let Kisuke go, just wraps his fingers around Kisuke’s and takes a long deep draught. He doesn’t even have the decency to cough at the burn.

Behind him, the front doors swing open silently, and Kisuke knows he’s forgiven. The Soul King’s Palace – or should it be Castle in this case, modelled after the Shakespearean-era architecture Ichigo is not-so-secretly so fond of – responds instinctively to the Soul King’s moods, after all.

Ichigo scowls faintly. He lowers the bottle, but doesn’t let go of Kisuke’s hand. “I don’t understand why you keep going back to that grave. I’m not actually dead.”

“You aren’t alive either,” Kisuke reminds him gently. “It’s a reminder to myself.” A reminder, that genius doesn’t equate infallible, and that his hubris has destroyed any chance at a normal life the best man he’s ever known will ever have, whether or not Ichigo regrets it.

They walk into the castle, hand-in-hand.

**Author's Note:**

> wisteria = immortality, love
> 
> [cywscross's UraIchi Discord server](https://discordapp.com/invite/ADFnKTZ#_=_) | [Starrie's fic sneak preview server](https://discord.gg/8yJVmbD)


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